Between Rage and Serenity
by twelvedaysnorthofhopeless
Summary: The 2nd installment of Charles x Erik drabbles, including some appearances by other characters. These are drabbles 11-20 on my way to publishing 100.


I've been bad, I know. I just couldn't do it. It took everything in me to limit myself to TWO massive drabbles, as I very, very nearly went ahead and wrote a third. Instead, I was able to kind of mesh one big story into two seperate drabbles...you'll hopefully follow along when you get to them (assuming I have readers). On my path to 10,000 words, or 100 drabbles, I am already at 3, 825. Wish me the best as I continue towards my goal!

Love, 12DaysNoH

**"Dialogue"**

The more time Erik and Charles spent together, the less physical dialogue passed between them. Raven would often walk in to see the two of them sitting together, occasionally glancing at each other with varying intentions, like a conversation without words. She could always see Charles' fingers at his head, private words being exchanged between them entirely through their minds. She hated that they left her out; that she was not privy to the secrets passing between them. But she understood their relationship was the sort that could not be intruded upon. Back then, she couldn't imagine anything destroying that.

**"Parallel"**

When Charles had found him, Erik believed he had discovered the perfect ally. Both of them mutants, both from broken homes, both had their lives ruined by the lesser human population. Erik believed he and Charles had existed on a parallel; they brought out the best in each other, they understood each other in ways no one else ever could, and above all, they watched each other's backs with unflinching loyalty. Erik believed they both wanted the same thing.

"Oh my friend, we do not," Charles had said to him, foolishly naïve. But Erik knew he could make him see.

**"Moderation"**

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Erik grunted, adjusting Charles' weight on his back as he carried him out of the bar. "Does the word 'moderation' mean anything to you?"

"I can walk on m'own," Charles moaned, pulling away from Erik. He held himself up for a brief moment before crashing to the ground.

"Hey! Charles," Erik ran to him, helping him sit up. Charles gaped at him, and then reached out, touching his face.

"You have _groovy_ eyes," he slurred. Erik rolled his eyes and lifted Charles back up. As they walked, he felt him falling asleep against him.

**"Inclination"**

A downpour drenched them both on the way home, but Charles paid his wet clothes no mind and crawled right into bed.

"Dammit, Charles, you can't sleep like that," Erik sighed. "At least take your shirt off." Charles groaned quietly, ignoring him, until Erik finally stormed over and unbuttoned the top himself. Charles, of course, had no idea how hard it was for Erik to ignore his exposed skin, and his perfectly sculpted chest, and just how easy it would be to take advantage of him. He _had_ to leave. But then Charles grasped at his sleeve.

"No, don't. Stay."

**"Pity"**

Raven wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer, but Erik gently held her back.

"Raven, I know you're upset. But I'm not going to do this with you out of pity." Raven opened her eyes, tears slipping down her mutant skin.

"Because I'm ugly like this?" Erik sighed, gently removing her hands, bringing them to her sides.

"Because I'm in love with someone else." Raven's face suddenly hardened; turned cold.

"He isn't _gay_, Erik. He can never love you," she said, stepping back as her blue skin rippled, and she took Charles's form. "But I can."

**"Figuring"**

Sean narrowed his eyes, staring outside with a curious determination. Just across the courtyard, he could spot Erik and the professor, walking together as they always seemed to do. Sean, suddenly, found himself suspicious.

"You know," he said, turning to the other mutants and pointing an accusatory finger out the window. "I'm really starting to think there's somethin' going on between the two o' them." Havoc was the first to laugh.

"Wow. Seriously?"

"Come on, Banshee, you're kidding, right?" Hank chimed in.

"Naw, I'm serious!" he insisted.

"We know," Raven said. "We just can't believe you're figuring this out _now_."

**"Continent"**

The world was different, now, for all of them. It was a world where bomb sirens were tested, where children were taught to hide under their desks, and neighbors suspected each other of political dissent. It was a world in which the superpowers of two continents continued to move steadily closer to the edge of a cliff, and the moment they dropped off into war remained uncertain.

"It's brinkmanship," Charles said to Erik in frustration. "Both are willing to stand at the very edge and dare the other to take the next step, but neither wants to do it themselves."

**"Nightmare"**

Charles was up late one night, books spread open all about the table in his room, his hands scribbling frantically across sheets of lined paper. Professors, by definition, were to do two things: lecture, and publish papers. Well, certainly, the former wasn't happening any time soon, so unfortunately he had to spend a great deal of nights compensating with the latter. This being particularly difficult after a day spent training kids for World War III.

Exhausted, he dropped the pen a moment, pausing just to look away from all the work he still had left and rub the sleep out of his eyes. But when he lifted his head, he spotted movement in the doorway, startling him and nearly sending him toppling out of his chair.

"Christ, Erik!" he gasped, steadying himself. "You scared the hell out of me!" As his pulse gradually slowed, Charles took in Erik's appearance. He seemed, at a first glance, rather dazed, as if his mind had not fully decided if he was asleep or awake. A second glance noticed the redness of tears, and traces of terror in his eyes.

"For God's sake, what's the matter?" Charles got to his feet, frightened by the state of his friend. Erik didn't answer; he seemed lost. "Erik?"

"Shaw…was here," he said. "He was here. I tried—I tried so hard to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough," He wiped his hand across his face. His fingers were shaking terribly, but Charles saw the terror in his eyes give way, replaced by such immense relief to the point of agony. "I saw him kill you." Charles sighed, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

"Erik, I'm fine, see?" He held his arms out wide, turned around once to show that absolutely no harm had come to him besides an immense headache from working so late into the night. "I'm fine." When he turned back, Erik was right beside him, pulling him into an embrace that was almost painfully tight. A little surprised, Charles put his arms around Erik after a moment.

"It's all right, Erik. It was only a nightmare," he said.

"I know," Erik replied. "Just…please, stay like this for a moment." Charles complied, and the two of them stood there for some time before Charles pulled away, feeling Erik's grip loosen.

"You could have found me earlier," Charles said. "These dreams…you've been having them for a while, now, haven't you?" Erik scowled at him, then he quickly looked away.

"Stop going through my head."

"I'm not, Erik," Charles slid his hand to Erik's neck, turning his face to him. "You've been screaming so loudly in your dreams that you've been waking _me_ up." Erik ground his teeth, pulling Charles' hand off of him.

"Sorry," he said shortly, moving towards the door.

"Erik," Charles called him back. His friend paused in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry for intruding, but I have stolen some glimpses of your nightmares." Erik didn't say anything, but he wasn't leaving, either. So Charles continued: "They're all the same. _You_ fight Shaw. _You_ can't beat him, _you're_ not strong enough…you're placing the entire burden on yourself, but you're not _alone_ anymore, Erik. You have this home. You have us. And you have me, always." Erik turned to him, and Charles could see his doubts evident in his eyes, and also a glimpse of something else that he couldn't place.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I don't," Charles urged. "Please, Erik, just let me help you." Erik was silent, his eyes downcast. Charles extended his hand to him and said, "You can stay in here with me tonight." Now Erik met his eyes, tempted by the offer.

"But you can't distract me," Charles added. "I still have a lot of work to do."

Charles returned to his table, and Erik sat beside him and watched as he worked. Eventually, he drifted off, falling asleep with his head resting in his arms, folded over a sundry pile of books. Charles tried to keep writing, but the sight of his sleeping friend only drove him into further exhaustion. He reached to grab a book just out of arm's reach, and felt himself dozing off. Dazed, he felt something to his right, something comfortable and inviting, and finally allowed himself to close his eyes. He slept soundly, his head on Erik's shoulder.

**"Murderer"**

Charles watched as Erik spun the coin through his fingers. The tiny thing seemed harmless, but the look in Erik's eyes told Charles that to his friend, this was a gun. A knife. A weapon.

"Erik." Charles pulled the coin out of the air, forcing Erik's attention on him. "Are you really going to go through with this?"

"Of course," Erik said icily, snatching the coin from Charles' fingers like it was painful to have it away from him, even for a moment. "And no objection from you will change my mind."

"Erik-" Charles pleaded, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. But Erik wrenched his arm away and leapt to his feet.

"Don't talk to me like you understand!" he yelled, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. It took every ounce of his strength to stop himself from striking him. "You weren't in that room when that bastard shot my mother. You weren't on that table, struggling to maintain your humanity while they _tortured_ it out of you. You have no idea how that feels!"

"Yes I do," Charles said. "When I access your memories, they become mine. I feel your pain; I feel every emotion that goes through you as clearly as I would had I been there myself. You're right, Erik, I wasn't physically there. But I've seen enough—I know enough about you, Erik, as a person—to know that killing Shaw is the worst possible thing you could do to yourself."

"That man is a filthy, bastard, murderer!" Erik roared. Charles got to his feet and screamed, "_And what will that make_ you?"

Erik was silenced; Charles was never one to raise his voice. Ever the perfectly composed professor, he argued with calm, calculated logic. His hands remained folded in his lap, his posture straight and relaxed. Now—greatly shaken—he was loud, and more emotional than Erik had ever seen, save for one time: the moment they met, when he fought to pull Erik from the water.

Charles no longer met his gaze. His eyes were downcast, and his voice was pained: "Erik…you think this is justice…that when Shaw is gone, you'll feel some weight fall off your shoulders, some sort of relief in your heart. But that is not the case. In the wake of this, you will be left with a wicked, destructive emptiness that I cannot truly express to you in words. It will drive you mad." Erik was shaking his head before he'd even finished. He stepped forward, gripping Charles' shoulders.

"No. Never. I won't be empty again," he said. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll have you, Charles, by my side." Charles slid his hands over Erik's, prying them off of his arms as he stepped away.

"No, my friend. I'm sorry. You won't."

Erik stared at him, his face twisting from agony, to sorrow, to outright disbelief. Some sound came from his mouth—something akin to but not quite a laugh. He couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't bear it.

From agony, to sorrow, to outright disbelief. But Erik could never just settle there; no, his final transition was a cold, seething anger. As it always was—it never could have been otherwise. After a decade of anger, Erik would not allow himself to feel anything else. He had lost all sense of it. It was his fatal, heartbreakingly tragic, flaw.

"You would do that to me?" he hissed. "After everything, you would do that to me?" In his anger, Erik could not see the pain in Charles' eyes, the hesitation in his words as his mind worked frantically—desperately—to find any other option but this ultimatum.

"I am so sorry, my friend. But I cannot condone this." Erik wasn't listening. He had already turned away, his back to the man who had saved his life, who had very nearly convinced him that there were people in the world that were worthy of his trust. Very, very nearly. But now, all of that had been shattered.

"To hell with you, then," Erik growled, heading for the door.

"Erik, please!" Charles called after him. Erik turned, without thinking, and shot his hand out in his direction. Charles felt a sharp sting across his face and his hand searched for the pain. He felt his fingers graze over a fresh wound—a deep cut across his cheek. Behind him, a nail flew and stuck into the wall. Their eyes met for a moment, Erik's face full of shock and regret as his eyes opened to a brief glimpse of what his anger was turning him into. His hand was on the door. He closed his eyes and turned the knob, slamming it shut behind him.

As the door closed, he muttered something, something along the lines of, "I'm sorry too."

**"Still"**

"So this is what's become of you, then," Erik said. He had thought his sudden visit in the middle of the night would have frightened Charles, but even when he was unable to read his mind, the man seemed to know he was coming.

"It is as it seems," Charles said calmly from his chair, where he was forced to reside for the rest of his life. Because of what Erik did.

He could no longer bear Charles' presence. As he turned to go, Charles said: "Even if our choices make us enemies, Erik, you are still my closest friend."


End file.
